


The Lord of Katalin (Part One)

by julie



Series: The Lord of Katalin [1]
Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Fantasy, M/M, Pining, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1988-01-01
Updated: 1988-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:22:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24763813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julie/pseuds/julie
Summary: Captain Davin K. Alley - the Federation's youngest and most brilliant officer since the legendary late James T. Kirk - has disgraced himself and is told to disappear from public view for a year. Under another name, Alley takes what work he can on private ships, and sulks and drinks and feels sorry for himself... Until he reaches Mogradeen, a planet deep into the neutral zone, and meets a hero of his who has likewise fled the Federation.
Relationships: Spock/Original Character(s)
Series: The Lord of Katalin [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1790887





	The Lord of Katalin (Part One)

**Author's Note:**

> **First published:** in the zine “Beyond Antares R-Rated” #7 in 1988.

# The Lord of Katalin (Part One)

♦

“Captain Alley!” The corporal staggered to his feet, not knowing how to react to the depressed-looking man in civilian clothes who happened to be the Federation’s slightly fallen angel. 

But, “No, no, no,” the man waved the name aside, proffering his identification. “Lieutenant Richards only, I’m afraid.” And he bent over the desk to whisper conspiratorially, “Though the resemblance does me no harm with the fairer sex.” A wink, a shared chuckle. 

“Yes, sir!” The corporal briskly went through the paperwork and passed him on. Captain Davin K. Alley sighed and boarded the ship. 

A particularly long trip awaited him, leaving him ample time to reflect on the past week’s maelstrom of events, and he wasn’t sure that he wanted to. He’d rather forget it all, but the Federation wouldn’t let him. Instead of a quiet reprimand and milk-run duties for a short while, it was an embarrassingly public reprimand and enforced unpaid leave for a year. A year! With nothing to do but reflect and feel unjustly done by.

On top of that were the orders to get out of the limelight – to which end he was given false identification. Captain Alley had seriously considered staying on the fringes of the limelight looking righteously indignant, but decided he had too much pride. He would disappear, and they would await his return anxiously. 

Too much pride was the fault he allowed himself. He fancied himself another James T. Kirk, and the friends who might rectify his fault happened to agree with him. After all, he was one of the youngest and the most brilliant Captains the Federation had ever produced. Kirk, probably _the_ youngest and most brilliant Captain ever, had become more than legendary both during his lifetime and since his death fifty years before. Through a career that was long and eventful, the Federation had always smiled on its brilliant child who hadn’t always obeyed the rules, but had always acted with integrity. 

And that’s what _he’d_ done, Alley thought to himself over a stiff drink. He had always acted with integrity. And his mind kept mulling around in the same circle, unwilling to dwell on any more definite points. But there was nothing else to do on the ship. When he’d booked, he’d thought the extra comforts of traveling first class would distract him, provide some form of occupation. But the only comfort he found any use in was the fully-stocked dimly-lit bar that never closed. 

He’d acted with integrity. 

Finally he amended that to he’d acted as properly as possible under the circumstances. But the Federation got slammed for the resulting scandal, and Alley, as the Federation’s prize, was particularly derided. All those minor misdemeanors, even from his University and Academy days, and all the wrong women he’d seduced… rumored singly, he had been forgiven; reported together, he was ridiculed. And there was too much circumstantial evidence that he’d been too closely involved in recent events. 

Privately, the Federation had forgiven him. They loved him. But they felt it might be best… They were sure he would understand that… It would be in his own interests… 

A year’s unpaid leave. 

Alley had booked on the first (comfortable) ship to leave the center of the Federation far behind, and quietly exited. 

The boredom, the hurt were only exacerbated by the never quite hidden fact that his fellow passengers knew who he was, and treated him like any crowd treated a disaster. He ran away from news bulletins. He stayed in the bar, and rarely spoke to anyone. He got the feeling that the barman didn’t like him. 

Some young woman seduced him – he didn’t even have to think about it, or do anything but perform once she’d got him alone. She didn’t seem to realize that he didn’t care. But afterwards in the dark, he found himself holding onto her blindly, burying his face in her soft flesh, trusting, dependent, hungry for some human contact. 

Minutes later, alone, cold, rejected, he tormented himself with the thought that she only wanted him because his name was Captain Alley. Somehow, that had never mattered to him before. 

He would have resigned, except for the fact he was a Starship Captain. He had lived to be a Captain, he was born to be a Captain. Thousands of other candidates never made it – but it had been a foregone conclusion with Alley. 

And Alley loved it. The freedom of answering to no one on his ship – the joys of running a happy ship – working for an organization with ideals he aspired to – not to mention the social (and private) life. 

But sitting in the passenger ship’s bar, he thought of the impersonality, the stifling bureaucracy of the Federation. It could bury _you_ and leave a simulacrum of you in operation. It could see things differently, and bow to the public’s view of things. It could take away the Starship, the Captaincy. 

It gave you fellow officers, encouraged you to become a working unit, and enforced personnel transfers every time you docked. It let you have a personal life, but didn’t let you share it with anyone for any length of time. And if anyone _heard_ of it, if it became public – He had been lucky, his escapades had been forgiven. The people who wouldn’t have dared, loved to think that Captain Allery _did_ dare. Until recently, when they had realized just how often he had dared. 

A year’s unpaid leave. 

Finally there were only a few hours left before they reached a spaceport, some obscure place he hadn’t even heard of before. Alley stood, took a step. He was going to leave the rest of his drink, but skolled it instead. And then walked resolutely to the nearest computer terminal. He sent off a private priority message to the Federation to announce his resignation, and arranged the cessation of his lease, the sale of his belongings. He had what he needed here with him, and he wanted to show them! They’d check up, and maybe not take him seriously even then. 

He felt free, he felt totally lost as he disembarked. 

♦

Months later, after a succession of jobs contracted in dingier, less and less reputable ports, on ships each requiring a greater degree of courage to board, with people he failed to respect or trust in ever increasing degrees, Alley co-piloted a small freighter down to the planet of Mogradeen. And promised himself some well-earned R-and-R. 

Just walking through the countryside immediately outside the port made him wonder why he hadn’t headed straight there when he’d had a year’s leave to take. The fresh air, the natural beauty of the country – the scientific reputation… Mogradeen, an unaligned planet far out in neutral space, seemed a world-wide factory for scientific breakthroughs. And Katalin, the province in which he found himself, seemed the most successful of all.

At the port, though there seemed no formal disembarking procedures, he was told to pay a ‘courtesy call’ to the Lord (or, rather, his underlings). So, after booking a room and a meal at a pub in the old village (quaint, he thought) he made his way up to the castle. 

Of the people he passed on the way, maybe three-quarters were natives. The rest were representatives of virtually every race Alley had ever known and many he hadn’t. With such a casual attitude to who landed there, the planet could become over-run with outlaws and fugitives, but Alley figured the present inhabitants would be pretty damned fussy about who immigrated to Mogradeen. 

He entered the castle, and was soon ushered into some sort of administration room. A seemingly very overworked old man, a Mogradeen native, was grumbling over a printout and peering long-sightedly at a screen, as if expecting any discrepancies to explain themselves. When they didn’t, and he became aware of Alley, he beckoned him over. 

“I’ve just arrived on-planet, and was told I should report in.”

“Yes. What’s your name?” 

“Richards. Davin Richards.” He proffered his ID.

They were interrupted by approaching footsteps – and the old man sprang to his feet with more agility than Alley had given him credit for. 

“My Lord! You must send me Garth. The program’s crashed again, the results make no sense. He can’t be –” 

Alley barely heard a word. He was staring with disbelief at the Lord of Katalin. If he had a list of heroes, this man was second after Kirk. A close second. The Lord stared at Alley for a moment, too, before he said, “Murray, you shall have Garth.” He turned to Alley. “Richards, did you say? If Murray’s finished with you, would you care to join me for a drink?” 

“Yes.” The usually exuberant, confident Alley felt lost for words. “Thank you.” He followed the Lord, mesmerized by the long robes of a finely worked burgundy color brushing the stone floors before him. The Lord dispatched some orders to a boy who came running up, including the summons of Garth, and then ushered Alley into a smaller room. It was hung about with tapestries, and felt more truly patterned after Old Earth than anything Alley had seen previously. 

The Lord in his dark robes sat in one of the straight-backed wooden chairs, apologizing for the fire – “I am still not used to the cold.” He poured wine for them both, and then placed his elbows on the arms of the chair, his hands together almost as if praying. 

Alley still stood – the quiet continued for a moment – and then he burst out, “Commander Spock?” 

A low thoughtful rumble before Alley was corrected: “Spock, Lord of Katalin now.” Spock’s forefingers tapped against his chin, and Alley found himself shocked by his own sense of _familiarity_ with the legendary VuIcan. “Do sit down,” Spock invited.

Alley sat, took the wine and drank. “Have you been here all these years?” 

“Yes. Although I wished it thought that I had retired to Vulcan.” 

“That’s what people think, yes. Though of course there are rumors… Not about Mogradeen, though – not that I’ve heard.” Alley stared into the fire, still trying to get his head around this. 

“May I ask what you are doing on Mogradeen?” 

“Nothing serious. Call it sightseeing. My last ship brought me here, and I decided to stay to satisfy my curiosity.” Alley drank some more wine. “I find Mogradeen fascinating. Were you one of the first off-worlders to settle here?” 

“Yes. You are probably already aware that the Romulans discovered the planet about fifty Earth-years ago, and hesitated to claim it because it was so far distant in neutral space. It is so idyllic that soon many different peoples came here, and the Romulans lost their chance. It became a truly neutral planet.”

“There are so few,” Alley observed. He’d used to think that a good thing, back when he’d been more enamored of the Federation.

Spock nodded. “I arrived here soon after the Romulans. Soon after I resigned from the Federation.” Spock was silent for a moment. Alley knew well enough what the Vulcan wasn’t saying: _Soon after James Kirk died_.

Spock continued, “It was rather a violation of the Prime Directive. The people here lived in a kind of feudal system with elements of democracy – which remains intact, and most of the Lords are still natives. However, they have such a ready intelligence that in these past fifty years they have fully adapted to their Space Age. Their science and our knowledge joined to create what could be seen as miracles. Their science still astounds me – such an innocent, intelligent way of seeing the universe. It has made many things possible.” 

Alley leaned back into the chair, taking another mouthful of the wine. He decided that he had the nerve to ask, “Why did you leave the Federation?” _When you could have been anything, done anything_. Silence answered him. All right, if he’d put one foot in his mouth, he may as well add the other. It wasn’t often you had the chance to talk to one of your heroes. And Spock did seem to be in a forthcoming mood, especially for a Vulcan. “Wouldn’t Captain Kirk have wanted you to continue to serve?” 

Spock poured them both more wine, and settled again in his chair. “The Federation didn’t need me. And it had lost some attraction for me. Jim and I had been lucky for so long. Then he was given a desk job which ended up killing him. I was captain of a ship which was not the _Enterprise_ , in any aspect. And I was intended for a desk job, or perhaps to become Vulcan’s ambassador in time. Neither appealed to me. 

“I drifted here with no purpose, became involved in KataIin’s science, and was eventually voted in as Lord. It’s a rather intriguing system: although once in, you’re Lord for life, the new Lord is voted in. It doesn’t necessarily remain in the family.” He gave a wry smile. “I warned them at the time I had another century to live.” 

Alley thought about all of this, but there could be no denying what he was most interested in. “Tell me what you meant about Captain Kirk.” 

Spock paused for a long thoughtful moment, and didn’t pretend to misunderstand Alley’s question. “As you would know, he and others were taken hostage. The ransom demands were impossible to meet, but had to be considered. They were never made public. No doubt understanding the situation, Jim made a brilliant escape plan – that saved everyone but himself. He was shot, executed in cold blood. The problem was that he considered himself old and useless. If they had left him as captain, if he saw more of me, McCoy, Uhura, the others still in active service, he might have managed to save himself, too. 

“I hated the Federation for that. I despised the bureaucracy that had done this to him. Maybe that’s why we make do with only Murray and Garth’s computer for our administration.” 

“You don’t seem particularly Vulcan.” Which was an utterly ridiculous thing to blurt out. 

Spock just smiled. Politely. “And now if you don’t tell me the truth about why you are here, I will be obliged to regard you as a spy, and either lock you up or turn you out.”

Alley just sat, the warmth in his stomach knotting up. He had been basking in the unexpected friendliness, the candor, the wine, forgetful for the first time of the shame and frustration he had been feeling for months. Spock had deftly drawn him out, and now sat there calmly in judgement. Eventually Alley said, “It is true that I am only here out of personal curiosity.” 

“I can understand why they gave you a leave of absence, but not the false identification. That seems to indicate that they had at least two purposes.”

Alley buried his face in his hands. “I should have known you’d recognize me.” 

“As if I wouldn’t recognize the man hailed as the second James Kirk.” 

_Gods, how bitter!_ Alley said, “Don’t hold that against me. They wanted me out of the way – a year’s unpaid leave, and a false ID so everyone would forget about me.” 

“You certainly violated their every rule, but you would never fall from their grace. I find it highly logical that they keep your services during this year.” 

“I sent in my resignation months ago.” 

“I assume they have not formally accepted it. They have certainly not made it public. You at least have the option of returning.” 

“Why do you show me such hospitality if you doubt me?” 

“Personal curiosity.” 

Alley got up, paced to the window. Spock hadn’t moved; his posture was still relaxed. Which brought to mind the reputed strength, the lightning-fast reflexes. Alley was in no way safe, but that didn’t stop him arguing his case. “Wouldn’t my face be too well known for a secret mission?”

“Has anyone else in Katalin recognized you?” 

Alley sighed. “Not that I know of. For now, I don’t suppose I can offer you anything more than my word, as a being as civil as you are.” 

Spock nodded once, in acknowledgement rather than agreement. “You will stay here as a guest, for tonight at least. Until I decide whether you are to be trusted.” 

“By the gods! If I choose to walk out right now…” 

“I would not let you.” Spock’s calm gaze made Alley’s anger mere bluster. 

Alley stared back at him. Spock was still vigorous, still appeared young, with his slightly greying hair making him look distinguished, the wine-red robes making him look glorious! Alley blinked, taken aback by the thought. He looked around him as if belatedly waking up. The room had grown dark but for the firelight, and through the window he saw the odd configurations of stars. 

Spock said, “Join us for dinner,” and Alley followed him to the door. 

Outside the serving boy waited, and Spock sent him with money to Alley’s inn, to fetch his belongings and cancel the room. The boy gazed at Spock in adoration, and ran to carry out his errand. 

Alley could see why Katalin’s Lord was adored, respected, but couldn’t reconcile that with the legend of the ever logical Vulcan who had always suppressed his human blood. Maybe the equally legendary friendship with Kirk and other members of the _Enterprise_ provided a clue to the conundrum. 

Dinner was at large tables, full of chatter and laughter. Spock sat at the head of one table, with Alley to his right. Everyone Alley had seen so far, including Murray and the serving boy who came panting in minutes later, and the staff who brought the food in – they all ate dinner in that same room, mingled at the tables with no idea of rank. Alley was further impressed by the Lord of Katalin, who seemed to rule merely by the respect and honor accorded him as his right. 

The meal itself, and the design of the room and the clothes, were all a strange, attractive mix of the medieval, the futuristic, the scientific – definitely enough Old Earth elements to feel familiar to Alley, but also including a range of cultures and other ways of life. 

Alley was introduced to those nearest them as Davin Richards. He found himself drinking rather a lot of wine – though possibly for different reasons than he had been drinking over the past months. 

Finally the serving boy was asked to show him to his room, but when Alley stood up, he staggered. Spock was immediately standing as well, holding him upright with a hand on each shoulder. Alley muttered something about being over-tired. Over-indulged. Spock’s hands gripping his shoulders were disturbing, and part of Alley wanted to collapse into Spock’s arms – but then he remembered what was owed to his sense of pride. 

His pride, his pride. As the boy showed him through the corridors, Alley thought of the Vulcan’s possible reactions to Alley falling into his embrace, and started giggling. The boy looked at him carefully, without much alarm, and took a firm hold on him to guide him to his room. 

The boy showed him where his things were, and sat him on the bed. “Is there anything else I can do for you?” he asked, looking into Alley’s eyes – Alley was having trouble focusing. 

“No. What’s your name?” 

“Dirth.” 

“Goodnight, Dirth. And thank you.” 

Another long stare, and then the boy scampered out of the room. Alley looked around. The bed had an ornate, beautiful brass head and foot, and there was a computer terminal on the solid old wooden table. Tapestries hung the walls. An open door showed a bathroom with every modern convenience set against the heavy stone walls. 

Alley felt almost sober, but as he lay awake, naked, with faint starlight shining through the open curtains, he felt mostly confused. He kept thinking of Spock, sitting tall on the chair with his feet to the fire, calm and cool. Spock gripping Alley’s shoulders, his face not a foot away. And once his mind had taken him over the facts that he himself was somewhat shorter than Spock, but his shoulders were broader… and that Spock’s robes were beautiful… and that the pointed ears and slanted eyebrows suited the robes, the castle… and that the lines on his face seemed to come from character (if that was possible. Does a Vulcan frown? Smile? Yes, yes) rather than from age… and that Alley didn’t mind if his own dark hair started greying, if it would turn like Spock’s, with a few silver hairs mixed amid the jet black, like the stars… 

Once his mind had taken him over such facts, he was confused, at a loss to explain why his mind persisted in feeling there was far more to it than that. 

♦

When Alley woke, he felt amazingly rested. Someone had shut the curtains, and when he opened them he realized it must be rather late in the morning. Dirth appeared while he was washing, with a light breakfast. 

“It’s almost lunchtime, Mr. Richards, so I haven’t brought much.” 

Alley gave him a wry look. “Thank you.”

“My Lord sent some clothes for you. I’ll have yours cleaned. And he says you should meet him at the pub where you would have stayed, at midday.” 

The clothes were of a style with Spock’s robes, but were a slightly more functional tunic and trousers. Their look suited Alley and his pride. _Or is that vanity?_ He was soon down at the pub, sharing beer and stew with Katalin’s Lord and his subjects.

“I’m taking you on a tour of the laboratories,” Spock announced.

“Does this mean I’m to be trusted?” 

“With at least a look at things you probably won’t understand. With maybe a discussion or two on interesting points of Mogradeen science. And whether you’re a spy or not, you may tell the Federation anything I care to tell you. Except, I think, that I am here.” 

Spock and Alley talked all day. Looking around the laboratories, Alley understood, or was eager to learn, more than Spock had expected. Even over dinner, their discussion was of concepts of Mogradeen science. Alley was fascinated. And there was no denying he was fascinated by Spock as well. With every moment, there was a new question. Every moment, a discovery. And the science! It was enthralling. Even at university, at the Academy, it had never been so new, so exciting, simply to learn. 

They were still talking as Spock escorted Alley to his room. They stood outside the closed door. There was no invitation to stay longer in Katalin, just acceptance on both sides. Finally they said goodnight, and Alley stood with his hand on the doorknob watching Spock walk away. Lean, supple, youthful yet wise in looks. Intelligent and kind.

Despite the continuing confusion, Alley was happy, and slept as soon as he rolled into bed and stretched his naked skin against the cool bedclothes.

♦

The next morning Dirth woke Alley early, and he and Spock walked down to the laboratories again. Spock left Alley with Torin, an engineer who discussed starships with him all day, and Alley felt he made _some_ contribution to the man’s ideas, even if it was only to prompt Torin’s own thoughts to reach conclusions. Alley didn’t know whether to be alarmed or proud that a great deal of his own information had come from his recent experiences on the privateer ships, the honest freighters, the smugglers’ ships rather than from the Federation. Some of it was practical, some of it theoretical, and Alley had a very sore head when he finally made his way up to the castle for dinner. 

“I thought you would want to be of use,” Spock said. 

“Thank you, my Lord,” Alley answered, clutching his head. 

Instead of remaining in the hall after dinner, they retired to the room Spock had taken him that first day. They sat quietly, feet stretched to the fire, with goblets of wine in hand. Alley knew that he was in love. 

He asked, “Why are you so human?” 

Despite the intrusiveness of such a query, Spock replied readily enough. “After some years here, where there are fewer expectations or rules, I found that I thought it logical to be honest in myself. To admit my human half. There are good qualities in both my human and my Vulcan blood. I thought to suppress the bad qualities, instead of just the human.” 

“I love the way you answer questions.” 

Alley didn’t trust himself to speak further, so fell into silence. Spock was sitting, seemingly immovable, gazing into the fire. Flame-light flickering on the Vulcan face. Alley dared to stare, drinking in his beauty. The silence lengthened, and it didn’t matter. 

When Alley had finally finished the wine, he got up, walked to the door. “Goodnight, Spock.” 

“Goodnight, Davin.” Spock turned to look at him. The dark eyes, and the beautiful, almost Old French pronunciation of his name, made Alley lose his step. Somehow, though, he got out the door, closed it, and then leaned against the cold stone of the passageway. How could he accept this madness, this sudden significant shift in his own nature? Shouldn’t he be resisting? No, no, all he felt within him was natural, was good. It was love. 

♦

Alley came down to breakfast early the next day, wearing the clothes Spock had given him, and sat between Dirth’s engaging grin and Spock’s leisurely, contained calm. Dirth poured him coffee. Spock peeled him fruit, with his long fingers deft and neat, and spoke to him solemnly, attentively. 

They strolled through the sunlight to find Torin again. 

“Richards!” Torin cried on seeing them. “Davin – look, what you said about reversing the polarity on the ion converter –”

“And it worked, right?”

“Are you crazy? I try it, I’ll blow the lab…” 

“By the gods, Torin, I told you all you have to do is –”

Unnoticed, Spock walked on past them, a small and satisfied smile on his face, hands folded contentedly before him. Dirth ran up beside him. “What are _you_ doing here?” Spock asked lightly. 

“Oh, it’s such a nice day,” Dirth said, hair flying as he skipped around. “And is Davin staying with us now?” 

Spock turned for a moment to look back at Alley and Torin arguing away. “I believe he’ll stay. Yes, I think he will stay here with us.” And he turned to stroll on through the sunlight, with Dirth dancing by his side.

♦


End file.
